


It Feels Like Heaven

by RebeccaMeyers12



Category: Fran Bow (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, I just want them both to be happy ok, Listen The third option was so good okay, Mild discussions of war if that's troubling for anyone, They are both soft, They are playing tic tac toe, They have a serious discussion but you must remember they are playing tic tac toe, discussions, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24958000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebeccaMeyers12/pseuds/RebeccaMeyers12
Summary: They were in the garden, together. The wind in the skeletal trees that held the memories or perhaps the concepts of leaves, the numberless stars constantly shifting, with no moon in sight. The twilight calm was neither cool nor warm. And they played a game together.
Relationships: Fran Bow Dagenhart & Remor
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31
Collections: The Secret History of All Things





	It Feels Like Heaven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShadowHeart405](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowHeart405/gifts), [MaySake74](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaySake74/gifts).



> As I said in the tags, The final chapters of the Third Option were so amazing, and inspired this from me. I also want to thank Shadowheart405 for all of their amazing writing. I'm not kidding when I say how important their series is to me. I am certainly not done writing for this fandom yet, so expect more from me. 
> 
> I also wanted more of Remor and Fran simply interacting. I just love them both so much, ok? I want them both to recover from the things they've had to go through and just be happy. As with all my fanfictions, I truly hope you enjoy this.

They were in the garden, together. The wind in the skeletal trees that held the memories or perhaps the concepts of leaves, the numberless stars constantly shifting, with no moon in sight. The twilight calm was neither cool nor warm. And they played a game together.

“Do you want to be the Valokas, or the Kamalas this time?” Fran asked, redistributing the pieces. 

“I’ll be subversive. Let me be the Valokas.”

“Really? You?” 

He smiled. It was still new to her. 

“Maybe I’d like to see what it’s like in their shoes.” 

“Maybe you just want to go first. Do they wear shoes?” She handed him the white stones, smooth and glassy to the touch. 

He scoffed. “That’s not true, and you’re trying to distract me. How am I supposed to know if the Valokas wear shoes?” 

“And why would I distract you?” They had played this game many times before. The room they sat in was something like a terrarium, the windows green-tinted, the room full of plants that did not exist anywhere on earth or Ithersta. She drank from a glass he had created for her, something shimmering gold that swirled in the glass even when set still upon the game board, something that tasted of pale honey and sunshine and laughter and petting Mr. Midnight and lessons with Itward and flying with Palontras and holding Remor’s hand.

(“Distilled joy,” Remor had said. “Or as close as you can come to comprehending what it tastes like.” Sensing her embarrassment to be the only one drinking, he had created himself a teacup of some viscous inky black substance, the origin, and substance of which he would not disclose. Perhaps hatred in its purest form, or the physical form of depression. Knowing him, it might be both.)

He carefully set each piece off to the side. It wasn’t at all like when she played with the snail by the beach in Ithersta when she played for necessity. The game was amiable, and no matter who won, there was something more to it. The realization they both faced that Remor had never simply sat down and played a game, the realization that perhaps almost no one held Fran to the high standard he did. The twilight shone green light through the tinted windows, the open ceiling above them casting stars down upon them. 

(“I might make it morning, someday,” He had told her once. “I’ve never made it morning before, but I’m sure I could if I felt like it.” 

“You could do a sunrise,” she had suggested. 

“Take me to see a sunrise, and I’ll make you a sunrise. I can’t make one if I don’t know what it looks like.”

She had forgotten he had never seen a sunrise.

The strange half temple, half palace surrounded by quiet woods and even long, sloping grey meadows full of scentless grey flowers they had walked in once. She wondered if he would make a beach, an ocean perhaps, for them to sit beside. She had a funny feeling if she asked, he would do it for her. It was not a limbo, this strange half-between space. It wasn’t unfeeling or too much for feelings to bear, it was warm enough and cool enough and gentle and understanding and kind. She wondered to herself if she influenced him at all. It had changed somewhat. Every time she came here, there was something new.

She wondered when he had become so gentle, or if he had always been that way. Had he ever truly been monstrous? Had he ever been as vicious and cruel as everyone else believed, still believed?)

She put a piece down. He mimicked her. He hadn’t played this game before, so she had taught it to him. He caught on quickly, interested in the simplicity. He had never simply played before. 

(All of his life spent working towards some overarching goal, fighting in a war too grand for him, wearing armor too big to fit. How could he have possibly beaten the Valokas in a one on one fight? He was doomed to fail from the start.) 

Not even when he was once what could be considered a child.

(He was still a child. They were both still so young. It struck her as funny to think about it. After everything, they were both so young. There was still so much more for them to learn.)

She put a black stone down, blocking him. He scowled at the board, then smiled to himself. Without the mask, he was almost entirely easy to read. He moved to put a white stone next to hers.

“Don’t you dare put your piece there,” Fran said. He grinned. His teeth were wolflike sharp. Somehow, it was charming. 

“Why can’t you lose graciously?” He asked her, setting the piece down. “If you have enough confidence in your abilities, you wouldn’t need to resort to cheating.” 

“I’ve never cheated. I might distract you, but I wouldn’t cheat.” 

Remor snickered. “Semantics.” 

“Maybe. Don’t put your piece there.” 

He laughed but obliged her all the same. The fun wasn’t really in winning, but more of playing the game. He knew that. So did she. And knowing him so well, she could see a trap from a mile away. He would never jeopardize his piece so foolishly.

(He had once planned strategies for Mother Mabuka, slaughtering hundreds of Itherstians, hundreds of Apollonians, he told her the stories, the things he had seen. The bloodshed, the death, the pain. He witnessed it all.)

“Wait a minute. Are you…? Are you really trying to bait me?” She said suddenly in surprise. “You know better than to put your piece there.” He leaned back laughing. She smiled, playing along.

“You coward. You deadleeworm. You are the absolute most deceptive person I have ever met in my life.” She told him.

“Flattery will not work,” Remor replied.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then he began to laugh again. 

“Are you laughing at me?” She demanded without much offense taken. His face went straight as a board and imperceptibly emotionless and for a moment she might have been worried he was offended, or worse, scared he’d offended her until he spoke.

“No, I am plagued with fits of uncontrollable laughter when threatened by your enormous intellect.” 

(There was something different about him. His hair a little longer, maybe. His face a little fuller, a little less starved-looking. Or perhaps a glimmer of something in his eyes that might have been happiness.) 

The game continued. Fran watched him.

“Have you spoken to your mother recently?” She finally said. Remor looked up at her appraisingly.

“Yes,” He replied slowly. “I did.” 

“And what did she say?” 

Remor shrugged, putting his head into his hand. “That she was happy for me.” 

“And what did you say?” 

“Why the interrogation…? I don’t know. We never talked about… anything… before.” 

“...By anything, do you mean…?”

Remor nodded, looking away. Fran nodded in acknowledgment and went silent. Finally, Remor looked back at her.

“What about you? Do you talk to your friends in Ithersta much anymore?” Remor asked as if struck suddenly. More likely, he had simply remembered to ask about them. Fran chuckled.

“Well, yes, of course. Every time I go back. I couldn’t really bear to stay away for long.”

“How do… How do they all treat you? Now that everything’s different?” Remor asked. There was something strange in his eyes. Fran shrugged, staring down at the board.

“Well, Itward doesn’t mind. I’d say he might even be happy for me Of course, you and I both know he never was on anyone’s side, to begin with.” 

Remor laughed. “You’re right,” He said. “Damn, I hated working with him.” 

“Really?” Fran found herself laughing too. “Why is that?” 

“He practically spoke in riddles. Anytime you’d ask him to do something, he’d try and talk his way out of it, and most of the time, he’d succeed. You’d end up having to do something for him.”  
They laughed together, then. 

(It was true, wasn’t it, that he had always had his own plan, Itward. One had to wonder how long he had planned everything. Was this the outcome he had planned for? What drove him towards this?)

Finally, Remor sat back. “What about… the others?” 

Fran’s smile faded. “Palontras and Ziar, and the great wizard… and all the others. They’re… fine. They’ve always been my friends. But I can tell I surprised them. They never would have expected it from me. I think that might scare them a little bit.” 

“No one would have expected it from you if that helps,” Remor remarked. “They all thought they had you pinned. Especially the Valokas.”

“I don’t know… he wasn’t really…”

“The valokas was trying to manipulate you,” remor said, moving his piece. “He saw someone small and pretty and thought you wouldn’t know enough to dispute him.”

“Someone ‘small and pretty’”? Fran said.

“Forget it. It’s your turn.”

“No, no, I only-“

“What I meant,” Remor interrupted her suddenly. “Is that you’re far more clever than the Valokas.”

“Thank you,” Fran said quietly. A moment passed.

“You know, I think you’re pretty too.” Fran said. Remor, who had been taking a drink of his black inky liquid, choked suddenly. Startled, she handed him a napkin from her purse. He wiped his mouth off and handed it back, which she declined.

“I think it’s your turn now.” Remor said stiffly.

She went quiet. Things had changed so much. It was for the better, of course, but in a way, the calm before the storm had almost been comforting, when everyone was blissfully ignorant. Still, Fran knew things had to change. Ignorance seldom ended in happiness.

“What about Mr. Midnight?” Remor asked, breaking her from her thoughts. 

“Oh, he’s fine. He’s happy. He just likes to stay home. He doesn’t like all of the traveling, it makes him feel sick.” 

Remor considered this. “Inter-reality travel is not for the faint of heart. But you could still try to bring him some time,” He said finally. “If you wanted. I wouldn’t mind.” 

Fran nodded. “I think he might like that. I would.” 

And the game continued. They moved slowly, as if underwater, planning their moves carefully.

“What are you going to do about the Valokas?” Fran said, out of nowhere, startling herself. Remor looked up, startled. There was a note of apprehension in his eyes as there always was whenever the Valokas was mentioned. 

He avoided her eye contact, looking anywhere but her face, hemming, and hawing. Finally, he spoke.

“...There’s nothing I could really do about him. That’s odd phrasing.” 

“Well, you know what I mean. Do you think he’ll ever… change?” 

Remor was quiet. “I think,” He said, “I feel very very sorry for the Valokas.” 

Fran was taken aback. “Why?” 

(Of anyone who deserved pity, was it truly the Valokas? If he deserved sympathy, wouldn’t he be expected to change, at least a little? Did he still believe he was in the right? There was no way to know for sure.)

“My mother once said,” Remor said, hesitantly, quietly, “That one you no longer feel love, you die. Even if your body still walks.” 

“King Ziar said that too,” Fran said. “I wonder if Misses Mabuka told him that.” 

Remor scoffed. “Mother Mabuka and I doubt it,” He said. “I doubt they’ve ever exchanged a word with each other. But anyways…” Here he waved his hand to illustrate his point, “Who loves the Valokas?” 

“The Itherstians-” 

“The Itherstians respect him, worship him, yes. But who loves him? Who loves him personally?” At Fran’s look of consternation, Remor leaned back almost dramatically and slapped the board for emphasis. The pieces rattled. He looked chagrined. “Exactly.” He said guiltily, adjusting the pieces back into place.

“So… What will happen?” Fran asked.

“Don’t ask me. Ask Okhula. Or my Mother. Actually, don’t. The Valokas is a… sore subject for her.” 

“I… I can imagine.”

They both looked away.

(He still didn’t like the fact that she knew. She felt almost embarrassed. Not to know, but simply that he knew she knew. He didn’t talk about it. He didn’t like to talk about it. So she didn’t bring it up. But she knew it was so hard. So hard to be related to someone like the Valokas. Someone who would never truly love you or accept you, someone whose own desires would always outweigh your own. Someone who simply didn’t care. It must hurt him so much.

She empathized.)

“It’s your turn, by the way,” Fran finally said. 

“Oh,” Remor said distantly. “I forgot.” 

“That’s alright, then,” She said softly. “We have all the time in the world.”

(They did.)

Taking the defense for once, Remor blocked off her black stone. 

“No matter how you look at it,” Remor said off-handedly, “I don’t think things are over yet.”

“You don’t?” Fran put down another stone.

“Oh no! Of course not. This isn’t the calm before the storm… It’s more like the dust settling. But Dust never settles all at once.”

“I never marked you as one for metaphors,” Fran said, smiling gently.

“Call me paranoid. I just don’t think we’re out of the woods yet. There are other things that ought to be occupying our minds.”

“Such as the fact that I just beat you?” Fran asked, taking the time for a slow, almost dramatic sip of her distilled happiness, pinky in the air. Remor looked down at the board.

“Oh,” He said. “Damn.”

“Two out of three?” She offered.

“No,” He said. “I guess I owe you a sunrise.” 

“We’ll take a rain check, dear.” 

Remor shrugged. He took a drink of his black, inky substance and made a face. Fran watched him over the top of her glass.

“All the same,” Remor said as she offered him her distilled happiness, “I think I’d prefer yours much better.”

**Author's Note:**

> They might switch to reading books Fran brings from the Itherstian library. Less stakes.


End file.
